Tests
by MetallicGecko
Summary: Bored.


My back arched and I sat up suddenly, actively hitting my head on the horizontal wall above my head. I whined lightly in pain and blinked heavily, rubbing my new forming bruise, and thinking about that dream – the same one I had had every damned day since the incident, each night showing me more and more detail.

It happened four years ago, when I was a rebellious 18 year old boy, and it had left me with several scars, a dead dad and uncle, and the memory of my best friend bleeding out his last drop of crimson blood. I grimaced and rolled out of the combination of an old mattress and tattered sheet, which I like to call a bed. There were pins and needles in my right arm from sleeping on it. My room for the night: an attic, in an abandoned hotel, wooden walls; wooden floors with gaps from rotting boards; peeling peach-grey wallpaper; and an ajar door that lead down a staircase to the hotel itself.

I needn't pull anything over myself because I had slept in my clothes. My hair was gradually becoming darker and duller each day because of my lack of dying each day, as I saw when I crept down the stairs and stared at myself in a decent mirror in one of the only bathrooms that wasn't blocked or locked. Why did it look like my eyes were brighter in this light and my features more angular?

Hey I wasn't complaining, I laughed to myself as I pulled bare toothed grins in the mirror – I could be a sexy Dracula with this bone structure.

The door creaked and I groaned. One of the many clocks in this place cuckooed, so I took it at a signal to leave; fifty dollars in my jacket; the mess of my black hair drooped over my left shoulder but I kept a memo that I wasn't going to let it get any longer than that. I felt weak and hungry, and I jumped quickly down the stairs to the second floor. It was there that I exited through the only open window in the hotel, and crawled down a ladder to a lower building.

Jumping from building to building and sleeping on the streets wasn't the favourite part of my life, but hey, I got to get to places other people couldn't, which was what I was doing at noon that day. I sat with one knee to my face, one leg dangling over the edge of the City Hall roof, eating a stolen bologna sandwich from Mercury's, all while admiring the magnificent city view. Since the accident I hadn't really had a sense of danger, as to why I was sitting on the three storey building and loving it. One could say I got a feeling of accomplishment and adrenaline during it all; but then there was this strange guy in the crowd of desensitised people down below that dragged me out of my thoughts and made me really stare. I finished the sandwich and leaned a tad forward.

He was wearing all black: black suit, black fedora, and black tie – which wasn't all peculiar in San Francisco – but here's the thing, he lacked shoes, or anything covering his feet, and black deformed not-so-fluffy, bony paws emerged from the end of his black pants. He had an aura too, the man almost glowed a silver-blue shade.

I blinked hard and he was still the same. He was just sat by a bench in the park beside City Hall, looking vacant, but then once in a while checking his watch.

Getting down the way I had got up: scaling down the side and dropping the last storey, before dashing through the crowd and looking over to where the man had been... to see he was gone. I swore but hesitantly walked through the park to a street on the East side.

Jet Slovokoski was a good pal of mine, who worked at a nearby comic book store, so I felt it was right to go to him. I heard the small sweet bell chime as I entered Comikaze's Comics. Jet was sitting in the corner, counting cash by the counter, and chatting away with Daisy. I hate Daisy, she always ignores me, so I don't talk to her anymore. I've only known her since after the crash, but even still she shows me no pity, or even you know, **emotions** , that thing humans can show.

Jet looked up and smiled, before ending his conversation with Daisy and letting me follow him into the other room.

He was average sized, with short, messy light blonde hair. He had a bold tattoo in the place

"Hey, Jack." he welcomed, grinning as he turned around.

I smiled. "Good morning." I replied, grinning wider. "Look I know you gotta be back to work so I'll keep this conversation short."

He snorted and took out a cigarette, before motioning to Daisy, and we both headed outside. "Ha, as if I want to be back there as quick as I can, it's a dead end job, and you know it." Jet lit the tab and looked at me. "But I gotta pay those college funds somehow."

I smirked. "Ironic how you say you can barely afford college, yet you smoke three cigs a day."

He rolled his eyes and took a puff. "Don't act like you're better, you've been smoking since you were fourteen, and it's done a toll on your voice. Don't say you're trying to quit, because you smoke more than I do."

I laughed, loudly. "Yeah but I can afford it."

"Yeah right." He exhaled a large cloud of grey smoke. "You don't even go to college, anyway, Jack, and you live on the streets."

I pulled a face before we fell silent. "'You seen a guy in a suit, but with no shoes, in town lately?"

He paused and thought, before looking back at me. "Maybe, what guy are we talking about here? Homeless?"

"Nah, his suit's too fancy. I saw him in the park by City Hall, with no shoes on, with really bony, large, inhuman feet. The only way to describe them is like a werewolf."

"So now there's a werewolf in San Francisco?"

"Maybe." I leaned back against the white brick wall. "And he glowed blue."

Jet laughed as he took a final drag and stomped out his cigarette. "Seriously, J? Are you high?"

I sighed and looked back at him, expressionless. "I'm being serious, Jet."

He patted me on the shoulder. "No, I haven't seen a glowing werewolf in an Armani suit. And I'm sorry but I really gotta get back to work. See you." he finished and I waved him off.

"I wasn't seeing things." I reassured myself, clamping my eyes shut. "I know I wasn't."

That thought stayed with me, as I picked myself off the wall, and repeatedly told myself I wouldn't see that strange man again.

...

Night came early, and I saw this with a sigh, as I heard the digital clock in the record shop signal another hour. I was doing the same rounds for ages, walking around the reasonably sized store, picking up different albums by different generations of music artists and bands, then replacing them on the shelf. I did this continually for around four hours.

I was half happy that I wasn't getting tired, but that kind of made me think that I was going to be awake with nothing to do all night. Nearing the front of the store, I held a Motley Crue vinyl.

I turned to the teenager by the cashier. "Hey, you, what time does this place close?" I shouted.

When he didn't reply, I assumed he had earphones in, so I spoke louder and waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey, idiot. What. Time. Does. The. Place. Close."

He didn't answer, and as I looked closer, I saw he didn't have earphones in, and could hear perfectly well. I slammed my fist down on the counter and he did look up, but it felt like he was looking straight through me, and not **at** me.

He was a little nervous. "Is anyone there?" he murmured, grasping his hands until his knuckles were white, to stop them shaking.

I furrowed my brows. "Are you kidding me?!" I yelled, hitting my chest hard with my palms. "I'm right here! I'm not effing invisible!" Taking deep breaths, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him close to my face. He squeaked and was clearly sweating, as his eyes darting around the room.

"Wh-what's going on?" he stammered, still nervously looking around the room like I didn't exist.

I raised my clenched fist, before something intervened. A voice; a voice _intervened_. "You don't want to do that, Jack."


End file.
